


keep up with you

by amillionsmiles



Series: this corner of the universe [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: At Long Last, M/M, shiro shows off his unreal muscles and keith makes fun of him and then they kiss, we have climbed the Hill of Pining and entered the Forest of Flirtation, workout boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7351060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amillionsmiles/pseuds/amillionsmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Clay thinks you have an eight-pack.”</p><p>Shiro’s eyebrow jumps. “Does he, now?”</p><p>“I told him I wouldn’t believe it until I saw it,” continues Keith, eyes dancing with a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep up with you

**Author's Note:**

> these two are ridiculous. send help.

Beside Shiro, Keith collapses, rolling over onto his back with a groan.

“I’m done,” he announces, hands folded on his chest as he stares up at the ceiling.

Shiro pauses mid-pushup— _210—_ to nod toward the case of water under his bed. “Make sure you drink something.”

“Yes, sir.” Keith rolls his eyes, one hand patting the ground as he drags the case closer to him, fumbling blindly for a bottle. He manages to grab one and unscrew the cap over his stomach before propping himself up on one elbow to take a swig; shortly after, Keith sinks back to the floor. “God, I think I’ve actually _lost_ my upper body strength. How are you still going?” 

Shiro’s mouth curves into a smile. “Practice.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Keith huffs, but he turns his head to watch Shiro exercise anyways. It makes for a peaceful image: Keith with his cheek pressed into the carpet, hair fanning out from his face, regaining his breath while Shiro counts steadily upwards in his mind. _225, 226, 227…_

“You know,” starts Keith, thoughtful, “I might not be able to keep up with you at this, yet, but I finally got around to beating your simulation score yesterday.”

Shiro laughs. “I heard.”

 _250._  He lets his knees drop, sitting back on his haunches and shaking out his shoulders as he takes a breather. Rising to his feet, he snatches up a water bottle and grabs the towel hanging from the post at the end of his bed, wiping the sweat from his face. “The Major says you cleared it in nine minutes.”

“8:54.” With someone else, it would come across as bragging, but with Keith it’s just a statement of fact. “Have to earn my keep here somehow.”

It’s an offhand comment, with little real weight behind it; Keith has never cared much for using other people’s metrics to measure himself. Still, though, Shiro brings the towel away from his face, making sure he has Keith’s full attention as he says, “You know you don’t have to prove anything to me, right?”

Keith smiles, quicksilver-bright. “Of course,” he says, eyes soft. And then the gleam in them turns teasing, almost wicked. “I might need you to prove something for me, though.”

Shiro knows he’s walking into a trap. He asks anyways: “What?”

“Clay thinks you have an eight-pack.”

Shiro’s eyebrow jumps. “Does he, now?”

“I told him I wouldn’t believe it until I saw it,” continues Keith, voice ripe with just the right amount of implication, eyes dancing with a challenge.

 _“Keith,”_ scolds Shiro, balling up his towel and throwing it.

Keith avoids it easily, having recovered from earlier. “Kidding,” he says, not sounding repentant in the least as he whips the towel back, and then Shiro is catching it in midair and they’re both on the floor, wrestling.

“You win,” Keith gasps eventually, once Shiro has managed to pin him down, knees on either side of Keith’s hips.

“It does seem to appear that way,” teases Shiro, not missing the way Keith’s eyes flicker at their sudden proximity. It sends a small thrill through him. Now that he no longer tries so hard to fight them, moments like these have become familiar. Just as he knows Keith’s fighting style, his favorite book, his love-hate relationship with the Garrison’s morning coffee, Shiro knows, too, the particular sound Keith makes in the back of his throat, some heady combination of satisfaction and impatience.

And as much as he likes the rare moments when Keith goes boneless beneath him, he likes this more: Keith rising to meet him, pushing back with equal fervor.

Keith kisses the way he pilots: all in, all instinct, no holds barred. It’s not sloppy, by any means; there’s a deliberateness to it, a steady focus. Fingers threaded through the hair at the base of Shiro’s undercut, lips warm against his jaw, the shell of his ear—

 _“Keith!”_ Shiro tears himself away, unable to fully process the weird tingling sensation in his right ear, much less how he feels about it. Shocked, maybe, and a little betrayed. “Did you just…lick me?”

“Sorry.” Keith covers his mouth with a fist, shoulders shaking—Shiro realizes, belatedly, that Keith is _laughing._ “I just—wanted to see how you’d react.”    

And something in Shiro’s chest just _opens,_ because here is Keith, flushed and unguarded and happy. It feels like the most natural thing in the world. He never wants it to stop.

“There’s definitely going to be payback,” he warns, voice low.

Keith smirks. “Counting on it.”

They should stop, they really should. But Keith fits against him so snugly, all lean muscle and coiled strength—

“I still need to do a minute of planking.”

Keith pulls away, eyes narrowed. “Shiro. You can’t be serious.”

“Easy, there. Didn’t say _this_ had to stop. I can multitask.” To prove his point, he raises himself up on his toes and rests his weight on his forearms, elbows on either side of Keith, feeling the familiar burn start to work its way up his core.

“Show-off,” Keith mutters, placing a hand against Shiro’s chest.

And this is a whole new exercise: keeping himself propped up, muscles straining, as Keith wriggles slightly upwards on the carpet below. Shiro feels anchored in two places: the ache across his shoulders and back, the clenching of his abdomen, and then _there,_ right at the junction of Keith’s neck and shoulder as Keith laughs, says, “Don’t crush me.” Shiro’s fighting on two fronts, now, resisting both gravity and the urge to just melt into— _this_.

Eventually, he gives. The minute is over; arms burning, he lowers the rest of his body to the ground, trying his best to keep from flattening Keith completely.

“Oof.” Keith groans at the new weight of Shiro’s head on his chest, the rumble of his laughter pleasant against Shiro's ear.  “Don’t tell me you’ve finally worn yourself out.”

“Maybe stay like this for a while,” Shiro murmurs, a bead of sweat tracing its way down his back, between his shoulder blades. The rise and fall of Keith’s breathing is soothing, almost rhythmic, and Shiro feels exhausted but also blissfully at peace.

“Yeah.” Keith’s voice is soft from somewhere up above him and Shiro closes his eyes, focusing on the sensation of Keith’s fingers pushing through the tuft of hair at his forehead, the gentle _thud_ of a heartbeat that runs like a complementary tune to his own. “Yeah, let’s stay just like this.”

**Author's Note:**

> utterly shameless, sorry. come talk to me over on [tumblr](http://amillion-smiles.tumblr.com/) or [twitter!](https://twitter.com/mnonoaware)


End file.
